


idontwannabeyouanymore

by BlackScorpio



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, F/M, First Meetings, Origin Story, Past Abuse, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackScorpio/pseuds/BlackScorpio
Summary: I heard a girl sing this song on the Voice and it got stuck in my head. Reminded me of how I always pictured Natasha seeing herself before joining Shield. Origin story, eventual romance. Not an original idea just something I felt like doing. Probably definitely dark ish, past abuse/assault on both sides with mental health issues.





	1. Stakeout

**Author's Note:**

> Will be told from both points of view.

Clint

“I told you you should’ve brought a jacket,” The voice in his ear nags, making Clint roll his eyes and scoff. 

“Thanks, mom,” He taunts his supervisor. “I’ll remember that next time.”

“Good,” Agent Phil Coulson responds, ignoring Clint’s mimicking tone. “‘Cause I can hear your teeth chattering from hear and it’s annoying.” This earns another eye roll from Clint as he picks up his monocular to scan the traffic below again. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Coulson snaps, making Clint’s eyes widen as he scans his immediate surroundings.

“Are you watching me?!” Clint asks, finding that he is indeed alone on the rooftop he’d chosen to stake his claim on. Coulson’s chuckle in his ear makes him do another sweep of the small street below to ensure his handler isn’t being overbearing.

“I don’t need to have eyes on you to know when you’re being a child,” Coulson informs him with the haughty tone Clint hates. “Now, focus. Our intel says she’s bound to go after Kaminski today, it’s his last night scheduled on this trip.” 

“Alright,” Clint nods, having heard the same speech from Coulson the two nights prior to this one. Whoever gave Shield the info had been less than specific with a timeline. “Then let me work,” Clint says, shutting his comms off before Coulson can object. Clint loves the guy, but his anxious energy was of no use to him on a stakeout. He needed to keep his mind calm if he was going to make it through another night of waiting for nothing. Or no one, he should say.

This was the third mission he’d been sent on with the same objective: kill the Black Widow. The first was two years ago, and marked the first time he’d ever been allowed level six access on a case. He remembered Shield’s director Nick Fury calling him into his office where his right hand woman Maria Hill and his handler Phil Coulson were waiting for him. He was briefed on his target, a female assassin based out of Russia who had been killing for over ten years, or so Shield thought. Clint had a hard time believing that, mostly because the folder containing all of her information was so light.

He’d shaken it in disbelief and asked where the rest of it was, only to be told there was no other intel. A quick scan of the folder was no help to Clint either, with the extent of Shield’s knowledge being that she was well trained and never left any evidence behind. As for a description, Shield had guessed her height to be somewhere around 5’6” and surmised that she was between twenty-five and forty-five. Anyone who’d seen her could only describe her as beautiful, but answers regarding her eye or hair color always varied. Clint shuffled the papers in the folder around until a picture fell out, furthering his skepticism. 

“That’s it?” He’d asked, incredulously.

“It’s the closest we’ve ever gotten,” Coulson replied with a sigh, acknowledging he too was frustrated with the lack of evidence.

“And the agent who took that photo was found dead in an alley two hours after he sent it,” Agent Hill spoke up.

“Two hours?” Clint repeated, looking down at the glossy picture of mostly foot traffic in a busy city. In the far corner her could make out the lense’s intended model, a left arm and a wave of fiery red hair. 

“Needless to say, the Black Widow has been making Shield’s life difficult for too long,” Nick Fury summarized. “That ends now.”

But it didn’t. Clint’s mission failed when it turned out the information about the Widow’s whereabouts was outdated. He’d missed her by a day or two at least. His second mission came just last year when a new source informed Shield that the Widow would be in the U.S. to kill a European diplomat who rarely traveled. Clint had waited for her then too, and mistakenly took his eyes off the diplomat for less than a second when a car bomb went off nearby. It only took him a moment to realize it was a diversion, but that was all she needed. The diplomat had blood gushing from his throat and Clint had no way of locating the woman responsible thanks to the panic she’d set off with the bomb.

This time was different, he told himself. This time, he’d taken the time to dig up dirt on her himself. For months, Clint did his research in between other missions and tasks, taking on her case personally. In the short span of his investigation, Clint could pin at least sixteen deaths on this woman, and his hatred of her grew with each one. Most of her targets were men, but not all of them bad, or criminals. Then there was the occasional woman, or innocent bystander, just casualties of a war they didn’t know was going on; it didn’t seem like she drew the line anywhere. Clint could feel his jaw tighten at the memory of photos of her victims. He’d always been too late to save them, but he tried to learn something new   
with each kill, telling himself they wouldn’t die in vain.

What he’d learned was that all the intended targets’ deaths would somehow benefit the Russian government, which told him she was a soldier, doing someone else’s bidding. He’d get to that person later, but first he had to get to her. She seemed to be able to blend into crowds or go unnoticed, yet used her looks when she wanted to. Most of the men she killed were found dead in their rooms, half or fully naked, having told their private security not to bother him for the night. One security team reported a blonde prostitute entering their boss’ room while another claimed their boss had picked a brunette up at a local bar. This told Clint she used sex as a weapon to lure men into situations they otherwise wouldn’t be in, further reitifying her name.

Still, he wouldn’t be on this freezing cold roof in Poland if not for a covert informant of Coulson’s who gave up all his information in exchange for a plea deal. He’d sworn to Coulson that the Black Widow would be in the Polish countryside to take out the president of a tech company who’d somehow wronged the Russian government. Clint had done his own recon, finding that the CEO was a Polish man named Jacob Kaminski who did in fact have a vacation planned in a small rural town of his home country that he’d been to many times before. It was a long shot, but now that he was here, Clint had a feeling. Nothing tangible he could put into words, more like an instinct, or something in the air that told him something was coming.

He’d given Coulson a hard time, but it was true, if she was going to strike, tonight would be her last chance. At this thought, Clint shook himself alert and grit his teeth together to stop the chattering. He wouldn’t be so cold if not for the rain that came and went, followed by strong gusts of wind to send shivers down his spine, although he would never give Coulson the satisfaction of that admission. 

Day turned to night until finally, finally he saw movement. The door to the penthouse suite that Kaminski had retired to swung open to reveal two of his bodyguards that Clint had nicknamed Dumb and Dumber. They were huge, all muscle with thick necks, but were shit at the job, in Clint’s opinion. They spoke a few words to Kaminski, who seemed to perk up and nod, gesturing with his hands for someone to come forward. And then he saw her. 

The Black Widow. The deadliest assassin Shield had come across and his target. 

She entered the room with a slow deliberate walk that Clint knew was practiced. He stared at her through the open window, taking in the sight of her as if he’d never seen a woman before in his life. She wore ridiculously high heels that accentuated the muscles of her legs and made the dress she had on seem even shorter than it was. The black material hugged her body in all the right places, intentionally displaying every curve of her body. Kaminski’s bodyguards closed the door behind them as they left the Widow standing in the center of the room with a hand on her hip. He watched her full lips move, the way she smirked unprofessionally distracting him from trying to read them. Witness accounts hadn’t done her justice. 

Kaminski stepped forward and shook off the bathrobe he wore, revealing a beer belly and a hairy chest that Clint wished he could unsee. He watched the Widow’s eyes as she stepped forward, trying to get a read on her. She was smiling as she lowered the thin straps of her dress and slid them off her shoulders, but Clint could tell it was a facade. If Coulson were here he’d tell him it was wishful thinking. Clint watched as the Black Widow shimmied out of her thin black dress, making a show of shaking her hips for her target. She approached Kaminski like a lioness, but first, too swiftly for Clint to realize, she shut the curtains, thoroughly blinding Clint to the scene.

“Shit,” Clint realized he’d messed up and let himself get absorbed in the first sighting. Quickly, he found his Shield issued enhanced goggles, and took out the very basic listening device Coulson had insisted he bring along, despite him not understanding a word of the Polish language. 

Through the goggles, Clint could see that the heat signatures of the two people in the room had converged together onto the large bed of the room. He could hear Kaminski’s breathing becoming labored as the larger heat signature moved atop the smaller one. The woman spoke, surprising clint with a deep tone that came out as a whisper. Whatever she said seemed to ignite the man’s passions, inciting Kaminski to grab at the Widow’s legs and thrust towards her with a growl that Clint already wished he could get out of his head. At the sound, Clint asked himself what he was waiting for, but had no answer. He wasn’t frozen in place, just curious how far she’d let things go when she already had Kaminski alone. She could end it now, but she didn’t. She kept whispering things in Polish, seemingly encouraging her target to continue.

Clint was sure they were having sex by the sounds Kaminski made and the rising heat signatures he could see. He’d made the decision to move, telling himself that he didn’t need to hear or see this, when she made a noise. A sound Clint could swear was involuntary, not part of her show. Instead of the throaty words both had been exchanging, this sounded like a pained inhale. He could see that Kaminski was still atop the Widow, moving in harsh motions as his arms moved up higher towards her head. His voice changed too, becoming harsher, almost angry as he continued thrusting. The only Polish word Clint understood translated to “whore.” Clint leaned in as if he’d been able to hear better and became distressed when the Widow let out choked sounds of pain.

Clint realized she was being strangled at the same time the Black Widow swung her arm out in a swift, efficient motion. Kaminski’s body appeared to slide off hers to the side and Clint soon recognized as the gurgling sounds of someone choking on their own blood. He began packing away the sound equipment as he watched Kaminski’s heat signature fall to the floor while the Widow’s got up off the bed and rummaged around the room. Finding whatever she was looking for, Clint barely had time to pick up his bow as she hopped out of the nearest window.

Flipping his goggles off, Clint matched her speed as they both went down their respective fire escapes, careful to remain unseen. Clint reached the ground before her just in time to see her land barefoot onto the sidewalk and slip her heels back on. He follows her through the streets, finally getting enough sense back to switch his comms on and report in.

“Coulson,” He speaks quietly, still trailing his target through a sparse crowd. “I have eyes on the target.”

“Excellent,” Coulson’s sigh of relief is audible. “Do you have the shot?” Not anymore, Clint thinks to himself. 

“I’m in pursuit,” He says instead. “She’s light skinned, between twenty and thirty,” Clint reports, thinking to report the only valuable intel he’s obtained. “Her hair,” He starts the sentence as a breeze blows her long locks backwards into his full view. He couldn’t tell through the screened window, but now he can see that it’s red. The kind of red that had to be natural. He watched as the long strands fly back like fire surrounding her would be escape.

“Hello? Barton?” Coulson’s voice registers in his ear as the Black Widow ducks into an alley. 

“Do you copy? Barton?”

“I’m here,” Clint whispers as he crosses the street and hides between two buildings where he can see her clearly. “Her hair is red. Hold on.”

“Red? Are you sure?” Coulson asks despite Clint’s request. He waits in silence as Clint watches the definite redhead walk deeper into the small alleyway and back up against the brick wall of the next building. Once there, Clint can see her exhale dramatically, breathing deeply as her hands come up to touch the skin of her neck. Again, Clint has a shot, but he waits. He waits and watches as his target leans over to brace her hands on her knees, still breathing deep enough for him to see her chest rise and fall. It’s then that he sees a thin trail of blood running down the length of her leg. He feels his lips tighten in a line as she wipes her leg the best she can and straightens herself out. The entire scene lasts less than a minute before she’s back on the sidewalk, making her way to a phone booth with a broken door. 

“She’s making a call,” Clint speaks up, remembering that Coulson was still listening. “Pay phone near my location,” He says, knowing they can track him faster than he can try to pronounce the street names. 

“It sounds like she’s calling to confirm her target is down,” Coulson says as he undoubtedly rushes the techs and translators around him. “She’s calling for extraction…” He continues. 

“Sounds like she’s expecting it tomorrow morning.” Clint exhales as he watches the Widow hang up the phone and start walking again. “What’s your play, Barton?” Coulson voices the question Clint has just asked himself. He knows what he should say, what Shield wants him to say and do, but there’s another voice within himself, telling him he needs more time. Time for what? He questions but knows he doesn’t have that answer either. Instead, he finds himself speaking before he can change his mind.

“Delay her extraction team.”


	2. Burning Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicide attempt.

From the first block he began trailing her, he knew something was off. The streets were relatively empty and he was certain they were alone yet his nerves were on high alert. He’d been posted on the roof of the building across from where her safe house must have been. It was really more of a safe shack, an abandoned warehouse-like building with boarded up windows. The place made Clint thankful for the efforts Shield went through to provide sanitary places for him to lay low when he needed to.

After telling Coulson to detain her evacuation plan, Clint hung up before having to explain what his own plan was. Mostly because he didn’t know yet, but also because whatever it was, he knew Coulson wouldn’t like it. Nobody would. Fury expected him to deliver confirmation of a kill, and Clint had no intention of doing that. He couldn’t explain how the Widow had changed his mind without trying, only that he felt like it wasn’t even a choice anymore. Instead of trying to sort out his mind, Clint had followed her as she left the phone booth and blended into the city around her until arriving at the sketchy building. She only stayed there a couple hours before emerging, still scantily clad from her mission. He couldn’t get a read on her blank expression as she walked determinedly in a new direction.

He knew his instincts were right when she stumbled on a loose brick in the sidewalk. Something about the way her legs almost gave out beneath her when she tripped made him think she was hurt; possibly from that ape Kaminski earlier. She caught herself before she fell and proceeded to take her lofty heels off, taking Clint’s mind down another route. The way she carried her shoes on the tips of her fingers as she continued sauntering down the dark streets in her skin tight dress was a sight very familiar to Clint, but one he couldn’t wrap his head around. The Black Widow was drunk.

Or high. Or on something.   
Clint was sure there was no other explanation even though this one didn’t make any sense to him. All of his research combined with the persona of hers that he’d built up in his mind could not reconcile with the fact that she was swaying in her steps like a sorority sister walking back from a college party.

He continued following her without a sound as she staggered towards an upcoming footpath that Clint knew led to a scenic bridge at the center of town. Struggling to stay hidden, he ducked behind the forestry on one side of the walkway and watched his target stroll towards the railing as if it weren’t 3 o’clock in the morning. From his view, Clint could see that her expression remained stoic as she sat herself down on the ledge facing outwards to stare at the stream of black water at least a hundred feet below her. This time of year, the current was calm but the water had to be freezing cold. If another Shield agent were in his place, Clint knew they’d panic, but he himself enjoyed the views from some ‘dangerous’ places so he waited. He waited and watched as the Black Widow pulled out a glass bottle from somewhere on her person and confirmed Clint’s suspicions that she’d been drinking.

He watched her drain what was left of the liquid and wondered if it was full when she’d gotten it. Everything about the scene seemed so out of character to him that Clint had to remind himself that he didn’t actually know this woman. Still, he told himself that all his research pointed to her being highly skilled, ruthless, and above all else efficient. The woman that sat before him now didn’t seem like any of those things. She seemed...sad. She had a look in her eyes like she wanted to cry but had run out of tears. With his guard still up, Clint told himself this could all be a plan of hers; she could know he was watching her. She could’ve planned this to garner his pity and— this was as far as he let the thought go because if she was onto him, he’d have been dead already and he knew it.

What was probably ten minutes felt like hours to Clint as he watched the peaceful scene, just waiting. He thought back to the heat signatures he’d seen earlier, the way Kaminski’s weight had to have felt suffocating on top of her and wondered if she was thinking about it too. Did she go to high ground to gather her thoughts like he did? He snapped a few photos of her on his phone before her movement caused him to ready his bow. Setting the empty bottle down, the Widow stretched her legs out until her bare feet reached the thin stretch of landing below her. Clint had his arrow aimed at her heart as he watched her arms slowly release the railing behind her and come out at her sides. Her chest rose and fell at a steadily slow pace that matched the serene expression she now wore.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and extremely fast simultaneously. Clint couldn’t explain how he knew, but in that moment he had no doubt that she had decided to jump. He also knew that in doing so, she would be completing his mission for him. She was a cold blooded killer that would definitely go on to kill again, and he knew he should let her go....but he couldn’t. Something inside him just couldn’t stop himself from saving her; or at least trying to.

His body reacted faster than his mind could come up with a solution. He was too far to get to her in time, but he could slow her down. Less than a second after his fingers released an arrow, his legs sprinted into action, racing towards the Widow. He heard her cry out in pain as his arrow pierced the flesh of her shoulder and watched her arm reached back for the railing instinctively. She’d just pulled the arrow from her body when he got to her, flinging her body back onto the bridge in a swift motion that left him face to face with his target.  
The confusion in her eyes was fleeting as her senses came back to her and her fist came up to his jaw. He might’ve been able to block the hit if she hadn’t used his own arrow to stab him in the lower abdomen. He hissed in pain, more at the stab than his now throbbing jaw, and caught her elbow as she tried to throw another punch at him.

“Stop!” He tried, not sure what his next move would be. It seemed counterintuitive to fight her after deciding to save her life only seconds ago, but he knew from the rage in her eyes that she wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon.

She didn’t bother responding to him with words, just kicked at him with some kind of combo that made him wonder what style martial arts she’d been taught. Even with her barefoot, the force of impact knocked the wind out of his chest long enough for her to pull a gun out from God knows where. His hands flew up around the gun as she fired, the bullet grazing his shoulder as he jerked it down. She kept a tight grip on the handle and head butted him to his surprise. Where the hell did she learn to fight? Clint didn’t let up as they fought for control of the gun, her knee coming up to jab his torso in a way made him think she had to be double jointed or something. She shot another bullet into the ground, the sound booming around them even louder than the first had. Her intoxication showed as their continued scuffle for control of the gun made her stumble over her own feet. Clint used her error against her to move his own fingers over hers and pull the trigger, this time with the gun pointed straight into the her thigh. Further shocking him, she barely let out an exhale at the extreme pain he knew she had to be in as she fell back onto the ground. Quickly, he holstered her gun in his waistband, becoming aware of voices in the distance.

“Relax,” Clint put his hand up to show her. “I’m not gonna hurt y—,” His voice caught in his throat as a small knife hit his abdomen impossibly in the exact spot she’d stabbed him in earlier. “Fuck!” He let out a grunt as he dug the blade out by the handle. Who the hell carries a fucking dagger anymore? “Screw this,” He said to himself before kneeling into her wounded thigh, this time making her scream through gritted teeth. He pulled a tranquilizer dart from his pack in a hurry, sticking it in her neck to silence her pain as well as his discomfort hearing it. 

She fell back from her almost seated position into a heap on the floor, leaving Clint to sigh at the figurative and literal mess he’d just made.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for me more than anything, but if you like it, that's cool too :)


End file.
